Imperial March
by Drake S. Hellion
Summary: New Vegas has changed in five years. With the man known only as the "Courier" at its head, it has become stronger than anything it could have realized. The Legion is gone back West, The NCR is pushed out and trying to play nice. Vegas is secure with its leader and his army of robots and private security forces. Preparing for a conflict he knows is coming. RnR. T for blood/language.
1. Prologue

**Imperial March**

**Prologue  
**_**The Courier**_

The Mojave wasteland had, five years ago, been the center of one of the largest hot zones for dispute in the Post-Apocalyptic world. Control of the still intact Hoover Dam and its ability to produce massive amounts of life giving electricity had attracted the attention of two very powerful, very different tribes. Caesar's Legion and the New California Republic. Both desired the Dam for their own agendas and all the while they had been blind to the "smaller" tribe, the locals of New Vegas itself.

Mr. House has ruled the city with his small contingent of Securitrons with an iron fist. None could dethrone him and those who tried never made it in the first gate. And it was from this stable position he bled the NCR for their caps to further advance his dreams of restoring Vegas, and in doing so, the old world glory it held.

But that all changed when a factor was thrown into the arrogance of the Legion, the Entitlement of the NCR and the well-laid-plans of Mr. House. A man who had once only been a Courier, a messenger. Hired to carry an item from point A to B.

His latest delivery, a mysterious chip Platinum Chip. To be delivered to the Lucky 38 and he would be paid. A simple job.

And it ended with him kneeling, hands bound and in the shadow of a night new moon with the shining lights of the city of sin in the background he stared up into the face of Chairman Leader Benny. Back then, the Courier was just a man with a job looking down the barrel of a gun.

"I know it seems like this is a eighteen carat run of bad luck…" Benny had said, almost sounding genuinely remorseful for what had to be done that night. "But the truth is…" the click of a hammer going back. "The game was rigged from the start."

And so, the man who was a Courier died that night and received a more dignified burial than most did in such harsh lands.

* * *

Three days of darkness. Three days the man had been dead when, in the humble home of a kind-hearted doctor by the name of Mitchell, did The Courier was born into the world. A gasping breath of alarm, with words ringing in his ears followed by the sound of a life changing gunshot.

"What… where?" Gasped the man, covered only in a modest, but dirtied pair of boxers. His sun kissed flesh was covered in mottled dirt, healing bruises and bandaged scrapes. "How.. .Am I?"

"Whoa there," An elderly voice soothed to his left. The Courier turned his head and saw the smiling face of an old man. "Take a moment to gather yourself, you've been out a couple of days now…" he informed the Courier.

The man listened. Three days… rotations of the sun moving across the sky, day being when it was casting its rays across the land… night when it wasn't. The Courier groaned and raised a hand to his aching forehead. He felt the wound, skin bumped slightly over his left brow, healed flesh likely from medicines. He pressed it… and no bones beneath.

He felt his stomach churn and he paled. "I was… shot in the head." he whispered. Memories flashed before his eyes. The suited man, the Khans. The graveyard, the moon and the city of Vegas. All of it moved before him and he gasped as a sharp pain lanced through his head again.

He groaned.

"Take it easy now," The older man said, planting a comforting hand on the Courier's shoulder. "Try not to strain yourself," he advised coolly. "Lets start simple, can you tell me your name?"

"My name…?" The Courier had said then. The thought and words bringing a multitude of places and peoples to mind. Flashes of smiles, laughter, anger and hate. Peace and war, locations he couldn't place but they all felt familiar to him. "My name is…"

Of all the memories that came before his eyes, which narrowed in irritation as a soft tick of throbbing pain built up inside his right temple. Until finally, one word slammed into him. A word that held the most meaning to him.

"My name is Courier." The man said firmly, looking at the old doctor. "Just… Courier."

"Well," The Doc said. "It's not the name I'd have picked for you. But if that's your name, that's your name." He shrugged and stood. "Alright, no point in keeping you in down any longer." he moved over, taking the man's shoulder and arm. "Let's get you up."

The Courier stared up at the old man. Eyes focused like knives so sharp it actually made him freeze as those emerald orbs stared into his own, searching for something. Maybe deceit… maybe everything. And then, a nod. The man stood with the aid of the doctor until he was on his own two feet.

Mitchell stepped back and watched with medical expertise as the Courier got a feel for his limbs again. As if they had never been there, he stared at his hands. Unclenching them after clenching them. He stood on the balls of his feet, then on the toes… testing their strength and balance. Finally,

Doc nodded. "Looking good so far," he commented, nodding towards the Vigor-Tester at the other end of the room. "Why don't you head down over to that Vigor-tester machine there. We'll learn right quick if you got back all your faculties."

Courier nodded in turn and moved across the room under doc's watchful eye. The old man could see his stance change as the Courier walked. They started off cautious and slow, deliberate as if afraid to trip over his own two feet. But by the time he reached the machine in question the man stood with the confidence of an NCR general.

"Give the machine a go, lets see your vitals." Mitchell said, stepping up beside the man.

Courier nodded, looking at the machine. He reached down and gripped the joystick, the red button at the top of it glinted slightly and before Doc could explain how it worked the man pressed his thumb to the red button and there was a soft hiss as the machine stabbed the thumb with a needle in the blink of an eye. Drawing blood and then sending to an advanced analyzer buried in the machine to check DNA levels and get a "map" of several essential health markers.

Coincidentally. When you combined the seven traits of Strength, Perception, Endurance, Charisma, Intelligence, Agility and Luck. You got SPECIAL. It was always funny to Doc, how did you rate Luck and Charisma?

He peered over as the machine pinged to see the results. And when he did, he stared at the display in mute surprise as what he was seeing. Most everyday waste Landers topped in at three and four for their Vigor-testers, least what Doc had seen. Sunny had some real strength and endurance on her. Even Doc's intelligence and Charisma were above average.

But this man? This man… was… something else…

Strength: 3  
Perception: 7  
Endurance: 4  
Charisma: 7  
Intelligence: 10  
Agility: 7  
Luck: 10

Doc almost couldn't believe his eyes. Ten Intelligence? That was well above anyone in the Mojave! Luck he didn't care for that Intelligence… even his Perception and Charisma and agility were well beyond most men. This man, Courier.

"Well, would you look at that…" Mitchell finally said when he found his voice. "Maybe them bullets did your brain some good."

"That's not right." Courier mumbled, sounding frustrated as he stared at the machine. "Three years ago, I took a test like this… My intelligence, charisma… they were two and four… not seven and ten." he informed the further surprised doctor. The man's harsher edge made the old man step to the side a bit. "Everything else is right… what does that mean?" he scoffed. "That I'm somehow smarter?"

Doc Mitchell couldn't even begin to answer that. Something must have been throwing off readings, maybe contamination in the blood? Brain waves scattered due to the trauma of being shot? Medical healing was one thing, by neuroscience was waaaay above Doc's pay grade. "Son, I don't know what to tell you." he replied finally.

"It's alright." Courier whispered, continuing to stare at the results. "Isn't there some other tests you need to run?" he added, looking at the doctor now with the same intense gaze.

"Uh, right. Yes, come take a seat…" Doc Mitchell said, waving him over as he passed him to head into the main living room. Taking a seat and pulling out some documents and pictures. Sliding on some reading glasses. "Just some quick questions. To make sure that bullet didn't leave you nuttier than a bighorner dropping."

"Right," Courier said, sitting down onto the couch and looking at the doctor with rapt attention. And so, Doc Mitchell began to show him pictures, asking what he thought they were. He replied in honest, even when the personality markers came up. And finally, once they were done. The doctor nodded.

"Well, ain't got nothing to compare it to, but my honest opinion?" Doc raised a brow. "You're perfectly sane. You ain't frothing at the mouth, or confusing yourself for a ghoul, so, you get a clean bill of health from me."

"Thank you," The courier's speech had started off slower, more pronounced as if he was uncomfortable with it. Doc noted this as well, but now? The Courier spoke calmly, easily and more confidently. "I'm sorry if I cost you trouble." he added.

"Think of nothing it, son," Mitchell waved a hand dismissively. "Too much death in the world as is without some young, bright young man joining in it."

"Right," Courier didn't sound convinced. But they both let the topic drop. "I should be going then. I take it my personnel affects were lost?" he asked.

"Oh no, I have them. A moment," Doc raised a finger and stood. Moving off into the hallway, disappearing from sight leaving Courier alone to his thoughts.

He stared down at his hands. Clenching them again, feeling the muscled move beneath the skin. Fingers tensing, unclenching and slowly, he drew in a breath and closed his eyes. Recalling the cause of the wound on his forehead.

_Truth is…_

_I'm not a fink, ya dig?_

_Maybe Khans shoot man with looking him in the eye_

_Khans…_

"Here you are."

Courier was snapped from his thoughts by Doc's voice, having not even heard the older man come back. A tan fabric of a backpack was dropped onto his lap. A large fabric leather coat that had been neatly folded above what appeared to be black pants. He stared at the bundle, they looked foreign… yet felt familiar.

His body knew them. He looked to the smiling old man and nodded. "Thank you, doctor."

"Names Mitchell," Doc supplied. "I'll give you some privacy." he made his way back into the hall again, disappearing into one of the rooms.

Courier stared down at the bundle, he put the backpack aside, took the pants and held them and inspected them, then slid them up onto his legs. Tightened leather belt and locked it. He stared down at the pants… black, patches of faded grey. They were reinforced by leather at the knees, thighs and rear. Places that came under rough treatment if you needed to slide down rough terrain.

He grabbed the next article. body moving easily in half action and half instinct as he slid the patchwork vest on, zipping up the front and adding the two buckles across his gut and chest to further secure it. The vest lined with pockets, all buttoned. Then, the came the leather duster.

He pulled it up and stared at it. Onto the back of the coat was stitched in mottled yellow "21". "Twenty-one…" Courier mumbled. And he winced slightly as memories flooded his mind, vaults… nuclear war, atomic hellfire covering the planet. "Vault twenty-one." he said softly.

He spun the coat around and slid one arm mid spin, the other sliding into the coat and by the time he spun a full three-sixty degrees he was in the leather duster. The sleeves had been removed, showing off his arms. That done, he looked down at the empty holster on his belt.

He reached for the back pack and unzipped it before opening it to peer inside. He reached in, grasping around and felt the smooth, cool metal of a weapon. He grasped its handle and pulled it free, He stared at the weapon as the metal of the its slight glinted in the overhead lighting. Across the slide, near the ejection port read. .45 Auto.

The barrel was large, indicating a powerful round. Courier stared at it, he reached up with his free hand, pulling the slide back and checking the chamber. It was loaded. A single, bronze tipped bullet was resting nicely in the well maintained firearm. He let the slide close again and clicked the safety.

He paused… then clicked off the safety. He didn't like having it off. He set it into the holster. It slid perfectly into place. He paused as more memories flooded his mind, this time of a man covered in bandages, surrounded by tribals… he was with them, helping them… a voice he couldn't remember with a man who had no name.

_By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat. Yea we wept, when we remembered Zion…_

Courier shook his head. Freeing himself the memories before looking over the other supplies. He found spare magazines in side the bag. He slid those into the free packs on his vest. A few stimpacks and a few books, some rolled up papers. He reached in, taking one of the smaller slips.

It was a mail order from the office of Primm. The Mojave Express office.

He now had a destination in mind. Khans and Primm… those were his leads to find who had shot him. The suited man. "You look like a man about to embark on a mission," Doc commented when he rejoined the Courier in the living room.

"I am," Courier replied softly, folding up the paper and sliding it into one of his coat's pockets. "First. I need a drink."

"Try the saloon," Mitchell nodded, smiling.

"I will, thank you again, Mitchell." Courier said with a nod, bowing his head to the man.

"You're welcome."

* * *

That had been five years ago. Five years ago since Benny had set in motion events that would decide the fate of New Vegas for years to come.

And now? Courier stood in the penthouse atop the Lucky 38. Eyes staring down at the vast lights of the Strip and along the fringes, Freeside. Or, what had once been Freeside. Two years ago, he had absorbed it into the fold of New Vegas, turning it into Outer Vegas. He's made sure to clear the debris. Anything, from metal to concrete, had been melted down and recycled for other uses. It had taken five years for New Vegas to become as big as it had become.

Courier watched, arms behind his back. Duster fixed firmly on his person, even more worn then when his journey had first started down this path. Caesar had thought himself a conqueror? The NCR thought themselves best for the world? No, one was arrogant and foolish to believe he could alter human nature through discipline. And the NCR's entitlement had been its ultimate downfall which ended with it being pushed out of the Mojave, not it only maintained an outpost.

The Legion, after the assasination of Caesar and their defeat at the Dam, had retreated back West. The NCR, too weak to pursue, let them go and tried to refocus on Vegas. Of course, two thousand Securitrons armed with rockets, 25mm grenades launchers and lasers stood between their tired, poorly trained army and Vegas.

They'd had to retreat or be utterly destroyed. Courier had offered them no middle ground. He told General Lee Oliver that if he didn't peacefully leave the Mojave and Vegas. Then he would be leaving it as dust in the wind along with the dying wails of hundreds of NCR's soldiers.

True, the Courier had supported the NCR's efforts up until that point. But because it had put him in the perfect position of trust for them. He needed to get on their good side so his movements and affiliations wouldn't be so closely monitored. And true to his predictions, he had been right. The NCR paid little attention to him higher up, and the grunts viewed him as a moral paragon.

They, along with Mr. House. Had no idea that from when he had first stood before the bound and kneeling Benny in Caeser's fort, with the First Recon Sniper Boone and former Brotherhood of Steel scout, Veronica. Enclave Scientist Arcade. That Courier had been, in Benny's word, _rigging the game_ to his own desires.

"_You're next_…" Courier had told Benny after he finished off the last of Caesar's Praetorian guards with a clean headshot. When the man belittled him for shooting him while he was tied and on his knees, Courier showed off a side that Arcade had called "horrifically ironic".

"_I know you must be thinking this was a eighteen carat run of bad luck_," Courier had said, smirking slightly as he pulled the slide of his .45 back, chambering a hand loaded round. Benny sputtered, looking aghast. "_But the truth is_…" he raised it, aiming right between the man's eyes. "_The game was rigged from the start_."

Bang.

Benny had learned, just like the NCR and Caesar. You did not underestimate Courier. Even Mr. House in his grand scheming had not seen him coming.

Now Vegas was his. His own city, his own people. The future of this glorious technological empire was his to command and it was all at his fingertips. The Courier blinked once and the console on his work desk pinged him, alerting him to a communication from one of his many subordinates. His Securitrons were often employed to patrol the streets, but mostly they were patrolling New Vegas' territory in tight, efficient search and engage missions against any NCR, Fiends or remaining Legionaries.

His inner streets were patrolled by hand picked "police" candidates he and his security staff had chosen from the roughly two hundred strong force he employed. He understood the Securitrons were good enforcers, but to keep his population comfortable they required a more human edge. And this way, people earned their keep.

He walked over to the console and clicked a key, accepting the connection. A moment later the voice of his Research Director appeared on screen, adjusting his glasses. "Courier," Arcade, tilting his head. "I've got some samples from the Vault Twenty-two data. Looks like we can cut back the sporation of the plant life. So, we can keep the growth rate, but lose the whole… horror movie after affects."

In the last five years, Arcade had aged extremely well. He didn't look a week older. Then again, he had been young to begin with when Courier first met him. "That's good." Courier said simply, sitting down. "How about our other projects?"

"Ah, those," Arcade said, a little less enthused. "Well, Veronica and I have made some breakthroughs with the T fifty-two Beta armors, between the Enclave armors and the Brotherhood's tech schematics. We could have a working prototype working within the month." he paused, then said. "I say it would still be easier to just keep producing the cheaper Fifty-One Bs and be satisfied."

Courier sighed. "I know war machinations like this are not on your top favorite lists of things to work on, Arcade." He said patiently for what felt like the millionth time in five years. "But to defend ourselves, and our neutrality as a power, we need to not only have good tech, but to _improve_ upon it." he said. "Remember, we defeated the Brotherhood with our pulse guns, their power armor meant little then. If we don't develop a viable defense against such technology, then we are doomed to the same mistake."

"I know that," Arcade said. "Just… the funding we're putting into this stuff, we could be using in the research for better live stock care, farmland, homes…"

Another sigh. "I ran the numbers with you, Yes Man and ED-E, The budgets that I've allowed have spread us out well, but they're balanced for what we need to get done. Between the power armor, plant life, genetic and power source research. We're also dealing with a shortage of raw materials." Courier explained, frowning. "We may have the caps to throw around, but the NCR is being stingy and there's only so much salvage we can get from the surrounding area."

That was certainly true. They had the land to get gold, silver, iron ores. Even stone for cement. And Vegas' caps kept flowing, even as it was being transformed into part city, part fortress. Many still flocked to it for a new start, to gamble, NCR patrons were still accepted so long as they followed the strict rules put in place. Legionaries as well.

But if either made trouble, they were executed. On the spot.

It helped keep them all in line.

Hell, Courier knew they recruited from the defeated armies. Legion or NCR, soldiers, officers both came to Vegas to enlist with his growing army or find a new, more lawful home. Of course, precautions were taken to ensure they weren't plants. Lie detecting tests were administered every other month to ensure they weren't feeding intel to their old masters.

Sides the annexed Brotherhood of Steel, who'd suffered a crushing defeat since the pulse guns had shut down their power armor, they'd fought bravely, but in the end. He stood above them, telling the elder and the survivors they had two choices now. They could leave the Mojave on a provided transport of Vertibirds to a location of their choosing, or they could join him.

Many had left, the elder included. Others, like Veronica, were younger and more open minded. Joined him. It had been a blessing, since they were naturally more techno-savvy than other waste Landers. Arcade and Veronica wouldn't have to handle all the heavy lifting in the Science Branch.

"Can you blame them?" Arcade smirked wryly. "You did kinda boot them off their own Dam and out of the Mojave."

Courier let a rare smile grace his lips. "All for the greater good, Arcade." He replied.

All he had done had been for the greater good of Vegas and his own vision for the future.

"Of course," Arcade said. "Now, I've given my report, I'm going to get back to work, unlike some people!" he called to someone off screen. A certain redhead calling back with a disgruntled, "_Hey_!" before the screen shut off.

Courier chuckled. He looked to the window again and then smiled slightly. He had gathered some interesting individuals to his banner in his quest. In trying to find Benny, he had been tangled in the Khans, breaking their loyalty to Caesar and convincing them to leave the Mojave. Word had it they joined up with the Followers and formed a strong community. He was glad.

The Brotherhood, he had been on good terms with them until the time came that he needed to know if they would fold to his ways or have to be removed. In the end, they'd killed only a few of them, since the shut down power armor wouldn't move. It had just been dealing with the scribes and scouts.

The Fiends of Vault 3, Any stragglers had been hunted by Securitron and the Courier's private forces in black Power armor, known only as the Vegas Knights. They'd cleaned out Vault 3, and the surrounding area. Now, it was part of outer Vegas and serving as the Science and Research divisions home base.

He same with the former Brotherhood bunker. It had been purposed as a training facility , the long open range of the valley allowed training of snipers. And the brotherhood VR pods furthered the experience. Boone had been placed in charge of training the "Second Scout Hawks", Vegas' primary long range killers. Sloan Quarry, Red rock canyon and three other locations were being mined for ores. Damaged Vaults were being stripped for parts and schematics.

Factories in the Outer Vegas areas produced armor for police forces, along with weapons. A standard sidearm of the New Vegas police forces was, of course, the reliable .45 Auto. Jacobstown, along with Heck Gunderson and three other Brahmin farmers were all supplying them with meat, and crops were being more richly grown thanks to Arcade's research into the data found at Vault 22.

All in all, Vegas was advancing in ways that many would have considered impossible five years ago. But when you had a figure of power like The Courier overlooking you, saying you could get those results. Well, they were quite vigilant about it now. The sewers beneath Vegas were also abuzz with life, smaller fabric huts and cleaning duties kept them relatively clean. The Thorne was still a place of entertainment. But otherwise the sewers had been repurposed for living and water maintenance.

Another ping on his console. "Yes, Yes Man?" he asked, knowing who it was already.

"Hello there, Emperor Courier!" Yes Man, his AI secretary greeted with that same happy-go-lucky voice he always sported. "I just wanted to tell you that the envoy sent from the NCR is waiting in the meeting room and boy do they look nervous! Should I order their vaporization?"

"No," Courier rolled his eyes. "I said I would meet them if they had terms for a more befitting agreement. I'm a man of my word." he stood and stretched his arms out. "Tell them I'm on my way."

"Done and done!"

Courier sighed. It was time for his least favorite part of running a powerful economic, technological powerhouse. _Politics_.

**End of prologue!**

_Welp, there it is. The prologue, yes, it's all jumbled exposition. I am sorry! Just… so much to cover, so, so much. And I didn't want to give you all the same novelisation of the game. So, thoughts?_


	2. Chapter One

**Imperial March**

**Chapter One**

In streets of what had once been outer Vegas, uninhabited, crawling with Fiends and utterly dangerous, now resided the New Vegas Science and Research Division's headquarters. Run by the head honchos that were Veronica and Arcade, a decidedly friendly pair so long as you didn't ask too many questions. The pay was fair and the jobs given were relatively safe.

Relatively.

"Okay, John, Now, I just need you to lightly, gingerly…" Veronica eased the veteran soldier who was currently strapped into the first working arm covering. The black carbon suit wrapped the man's arm all the up to the shoulder and then extended outwards, covering most of his side and stopping at the junction where his neck met shoulder.

Normally, a breastplate and another black suit lay would be there to connect with. But until they find tuned the reactive muscles inside the fiber suit so that they didn't accidently to something painful like kidney shot the user, or-

John moved… and his arm, which he had been planning to wave slightly, bent at an angle that made the stoic face collapse and his mouth opened for a cry of pain.

Veronica sighed. _Or breaking the man's arm_. She thought, closing the obersavation window and letting the medical bots attend to Mr. John Welsh, their brave test subject who'd volunteered straight from the New Vegas Knights, they'd used power armor before and she thought the experience would help him, but so far?

"What setting of sensitivity did we use that time?" she asked, looking to her dedicated staff of wonderful armor enthusiasts.

It consisted of exactly one Arcade Gannon. "Six." He replied flatly, looking less than pleased by the man's arm. "I'm thinking we should drop it down to one and try it then, build up, rather than start from ten and count down." he reinforced.

"Nonesense!" Veronica waved a hand and smiled. "John can take it! I mean, did you see his determination when he kidney shot himself the first time? Or when he knocked himself out? And lets not forget the shot to the solar plexus, that wheezing."

"…" Arcade blinked. "I get the sense you're somewhat of a sadist."

"…I do enjoy punching things a bit too much," Veronica shrugged. "Anyways! Fine, to put you at ease we'll try one sensitivity." she turned back to the consoles and moved over. The windows opened and John's arm was being nursed by the med robots, essentially Mr. Handy's who had been repurposed to stitch wounds, apply stims, painkillers, the works. They could even perform surgery!

"John, how're you feeling for one more test? We're going with one Sensitivity this time since Arcade is getting tired of seeing your arm get abused!" Veronica watched as the man gave thumbs a up. She grinned. "John, I'd love you if you weren't a man!" she cheered.

"Sensitivity… down to one," Arcade reported with a sigh. "we're good when he is."

Honestly, this weapons research just… he didn't like it, but he owed it to the Courier to give it his all. And he was right, Vegas needed every edge, even military wise. But… that still didn't make the sour taste in Arcade's mouth disappear.

John slid his arm back into the black fiber suit and rolled his neck before letting the power cables hook onto the suit itself, then, when it was powered he waited for the green light from Veronica. Honestly, this was only the fourth most painful experience of his life, being a Vegas Knight for three years, he was used to wearing power armor, mostly 51Bs that were the standard issue.

And in those years, he'd heard they had been working on something better, then Veronica had come down to the barracks and called for a volunteer to help test. Naturally, John had taken the chance before anyone else could. And here he was, helping Vegas by making it better armor.

"Alright, John. Go for it!" Veronica grinned from the window.

He took a breath, and then moved the arm to curl, if it was going to snap, it wasn't going to be in an awkward angle again. And to his surprise, It "snapped" to its position, folding, there was a bit of strain at the joint but nothing harsh. He blinked, then he raised his arm, and waved. The reactive muscles matched his movement, though it was overdone to an almost comical fashion.

Veronica looked absolutely giddy, and even Arcade looked pleased. "Alright! So, one sensitivity it is then!" she said, then turned to Arcade. "So, wanna give him a break and then have put on the rest of the undersuit?" she asked.

"Yeah, think he's earned that," Arcade nodded and moved to the speaker. "John? Take ten, then we'll move on to the next stage." a pause. "Good work."

John stood, pulling his arm out of the suit and nodded, massaging his shoulder and moving to the snack table inside the room where some cookies and milk had been laid out for him. Veronica joined him, smiling. "Ma'am," John nodded.

"John! You did great!" She grinned brightly. "Now when we reach the next stage there won't be a chance of you curling up into a ball of agony, should be fun!" she sat down and watched as a few other whitecoats unhooked the arm covering, then brought in a full body suit of the same material and hooked it up to the supports overhead.

"Fun…" John echoed, watching the full body suit be hooked up to the power source. "Right… sounds, good."

He oddly wondered if the redhead was secretly attempting to kill him…

* * *

Courier wondered if the NCR was openly attempting to kill him via boredom.

"You can see how a strong partnership is mutually beneficial, I'm sure." The NCR envoy, who named himself Julius, finished explaining how, if the Courier was willing to allow the NCR more territory, particularly the Mojave from Primm and Cottonwood cove, they could enter into a "prosperous" and "long lasting" partnership.

The Courier saw through it so fast Yes Man's processor would have skipped a line of code. "And this has nothing to do with Primm's and the old Legion fortress?" he asked with a raised brow. When the man opened his mouth to reply quickly the Courier raised a hand for silence. He got it. "Don't bother denying it, Mr. Julius."

He went on after sipping some of his coffee. "You think I don't know my own backyard?" Courier asked rhetorically. "I've looked over every map, every possible route here and looked over all possible tactical situations that would allow you, or the Legion, to try and take my city, my land. And trust me when I say that whatever plan you have to get a foothold anywhere I will have thought of because I, unlike you, am one of the smartest men alive." he stood now, gesturing to the window of the suite that showed the glowing city of New Vegas. "I defeated House in his own game of cards. I routed the Legion at the dam, I killed Caeser and in the last few years I've built an empire so powerful it eclipses anything before it!"

The Courier paused, looking to Julius. "I've rallied the boomers, destroyed the Fiends, The Khans are gone and I even defeated the Brotherhood, a task that for all the power the NCR attempted, I did by knocking on their front damn door." he glared heatedly at Julius now and the man actually gulped, sweat beading down on his brows as if there was a weight being pushed upon him. "I do not lie when I say I am the most powerful man on this Earth."

A pause of silence in the room. One second… two…three.

Ping!

"Yes, Yes Man?" Courier asked while sitting back down and sipping more coffee. Julius took that as his cue to breathe.

"I just wanted to report to you that several Securitrons in the New Vegas sewers have stopped reporting in! Telemetry before their shutdown tells me there's a good chance that you have NCR Special Operations teams, Rangers, in the sewers trying to infiltrate the city! Nasty!"

The Courier blinked once before looking to a now pale Julius, brows furrowing in displeasure as the man attempted to stand and reach into his coat for something, likely a weapon. His hand cleared the coat… and then there was a shot and Julius fell to the floor clutching a bloody hand, which was now missing a trigger finger.

The Courier stood and holstered his smoking .45 Auto handgun with an almost bored expression. "I've drawn against some of the best shooters in the Mojave, Mr. Julius, compared to them you're not even cannon fodder." he looked to the door, "Boyd!"

The door slid open and in walked former NCR officer Boyd, an interrogator who had joined the New Vegas camp at Courier's request. She looked at the bleeding NCR envoy then to the Courier in confusion. "Orders?" she asked.

"Rangers are in our sewers," The Courier sighed. "Mr. Julius was going for a gun. So, Boyd, I'm letting you have at him, show him your favorite passtime, eh?" he saw the gleam in her eye and her lips twitched into a smile. "Get what he knows, then do with him what you will."

"Don't worry, sir," she looked at the now cowering Julius. "I'll have him squealing like a Brahmin being prodded with a hot brand."

"Good," Courier walked by, patting her shoulder as he stepped past her. She whirled around with questioning in her eyes. The Courier stopped and explained, "I need to remind the NCR why the people of New Vegas fear me, the man, not just the army I command." he flipped his coat as he exited.

Boyd blinked and shivered. "I would fuck that man if he didn't scare the shit out of me…" she mumbled, shaking her head and turning over to Julius, her eyes narrowed and she frowned. "As for you, let me show you my play room…" she walked over, reaching down and taking the bleeding man's hand, his injured one, and hauling up by it, causing him to cry out. "You and I? We're going to get really close."

Julius wanted to cry.

* * *

Lieutenant Jager shifted, he wore his black armor proudly and the High powered .45-70 Gov't revolver, the Ranger Sequoia, gripped in both hands as he and his team of four Rangers, all Veterans, moved quietly as they could through the sewers below New Vegas. Their mission was supposed to be easy, they were to infiltrate the sewers, a place that had little less security due to the narrow tunnels and older construction, and get topside into the Lucky 38 where they could hopefully capture or kill the leader of the New Vegas forces.

The Courier.

Jager heard all the rumors, everyone knew the man's alias inside the Rangers and all the stories of his deeds. Before he turned into a neutral leader and kicked out both the Legion and NCR from the Mojave he had been a helluva errand boy for the NCR and several other factions inside the Mojave. He'd earned the status of a hero across the NCR and they trusted him.

In the end he'd fooled them all. Mr. House, the NCR and even the Brotherhood and Legion. They'd all been played by one man.

And now it was time for some payback.

"Malkowitz, stay on my right," Jager whispered as he shifted his aim across the narrow tunnel way, lit only by a few placed burning barrels. Otherwise the hall was dark. "Vic, on the rear, Link you got her right, Mike, you stay at the six, keep our backs."

A series of confimations came from behind him. However, he noticed something.

"Mike, report."

"He's gone…" Victoria reported, her voice just barely raised in surprise. Link, who was on her right, turned as well and sure enough where their rear guard had been was gone. They stared, raising their Assault Rifles and scanning the hallway they'd come down. They saw nothing. No sign of Mike.

Jager frowned and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled up as if sensing something was amiss. They couldn't risk calling Mike now, they could give their position away and after cutting it close with those two Securitrons they couldn't risk it. "Vic, Link. Double back and see if you can spot him. Malkowitz and I will remain here. Be back one minute."

"Sir." they chorused and moved back around the corner with their weapons raised. A few seconds ticked by, four, five, second… their footsteps stopped echoing on the walls and Jager frowned but didn't comment, he waited. Soon half a minute passed.

Malkowitz grunted and turned sharply while raising his own revolver and aiming down the other end of the corridor. "I heard something." he growled, he was a ghoul beneath the mask.

Jager turned and aimed as well, looking around before feeling the hairs on his neck prickle again. He spun around was greeted to the sight of a flickering shape, someone using a Stealth Boy, before he raised his revolver… which was then flicked to the side and fired harmlessly into the wall.

A boot landed to his knee, bending it back in an angle it was never meant to go. He grit his teeth and watched as Malkowitz turned, had his own gun kicked upwards and the blurry figure rushed forward with a palm thrust that sent his fellow Ranger onto his ass. A ranger taught move!

The figure turned back to him and the stealth field lowered.

The Courier was here, fighting them. Their target was engaging them!

Jager brought his revolver up and it was kicked from his grasp when the Courier turned to him, in the narrow hall there wasn't much room to dodge. Jager reached into his coat, drew his combat knife and lunged, tackling the man at the waist and forcing them both to the ground. He raised his hand and tried to drive the knife into his shoulder, but the Courier caught his hand with one of his own while his free hand pulled a baton. It clicked and extended.

A slam to the side of his head brought stars across his vision and he fell to the side. The Courier had struck him, and his helmet cracked under the blow.

Malkowitz was up, he raised his revolver.

B-Bang!

His fellow Ranger slumped against the wall, then slid down the stone onto the floor with two bloody smoking holes where his mask's lenses had been. The Courier lowered his smoking .45 and turned to Jager as his Pip-Boy's light activated, illuminating their surroundings.

He saw the Courier's eyes boring down on him and he felt as if there was actual weight to the man's eyes. The prickling of the feeling, fear, Jager realized, ran through him as the man's cold eyes glared down at him, daring him to move but also ordering him to stay still. To not even breath!

"You NCR never learn," the Courier spoke, voice a drawl as if fighting wasn't that enjoyable. "You think that black armor makes you special? That your revolvers…" he shook his head and looked at the knife still in Jager's grasp. "You're well trained. But you're so blindly loyal to the NCR you can't see their ways will never work. They're too focused on the past. Bringing it back…"

"And what are you focused on?" Jager asked, gripping his knife a bit more and trying to support himself on his good leg to lean against the wall so he didn't put pressure on his really fucked up one. "You're just an opportunist."

"And the NCR is not?"

Jager had no reply for that. He couldn't outright deny that his own leaders weren't above seizing opportunity, in fact it would be stupid not to seize certain ones and to call the Courier one was hypocritical. He instead growled, "So what are you going to do? Kill me?"

"I could," The Courier aimed at his head so he was staring down the barrel. Jager moved to sla-Another gunshot and his knife's blade clattered to the ground and Jager fell to the floor onto his side with a grunt. Looking at his knife, he saw the blade had been shot off, leaving nothing but a jagged scrap of metal.

"You're fast. I bet I can react quicker though." The Courier said with a frown. "You've got a brain on you, you're not stupid, not as much as any of these elites of yours, no, you're a thinker too. Like me."

"Not like you." Jager grunted.

"Not like me, but enough that I don't want to kill you." The Courier shrugged with a shoulder while his other arm kept the gun on his captive.

"Then what are you going to do?" Jager asked, preparing for another fight. If he could get the Courier off his guard once more, he could get the upper hand and still complete his mission.

"Let you go." Courier said, looking at the other hall, "Escort our guest out!"

Jager followed his gaze and saw four more figures blur and then their own stealth fields shut down and reveal four black armored figures. But, unlike Jager's own Ranger Black armor… those figures were wearing T51b powered armor. Their armor was pitch black, with golden trim around the pauldrons, chest piece and their boots. And over their right pauldron hung a red fabric flag with a 21 on it, a red flag, a white circle and in a black 21. The flag of New Vegas.

Each bore that flag on their shoulders. Their weapons, Jager recognized them from intelligence reports. They were Plasma Repeaters. New weapons that were developed inside New Vegas for this branch of armored fighters currently staring at him. The were like automatic plasma rifles, however bigger, less parts sticking out and with only four of them they could probably take out a sizable force of NCR troopers.

"I see you're familiar with the New Vegas knights." The Courier's voice drew him back. "These four are going to escort you out of my sewers. Don't worry, you won't be killed unless you give them reason to do it."

The Courier moved down towards his four knights, and Jager glared at his back but didn't move for a weapon. Dying now wouldn't serve any purpose, so he would take this generosity and hope something else was gleamed from this failure. "They call you Courier, but you got a name?!" he called.

The Courier stopped, then glanced back at him. "No name. Just Courier. The man I was before? He's dead." he turned back away and waved his hand.

On command, the four knights stepped aside and allowed their leader past before moving towards Jager.

A mission failure.

* * *

The Courier sighed as he entered his suite after exiting the elevator that took him into the sewers, grunting with annoyance as he passed the threshold into his office and taking a seat behind an impressive desk with his console lit up. "I swear, the NCR is trying to make me lash out of them." he mumbled. Of course, he wouldn't, not yet. So far all they had were a few failed infiltrations and more than a few scouting parties caught on New Vegas land and waved off by weapons fire.

If the NCR was looking for a war they weren't going to get it just yet, not until the Courier was confident that they could not only attack other factions, but defend while attacking. He wouldn't make the same mistakes the Legion and NCR had, he wouldn't let all he'd worked for over the years be taken from him simply because he got greedy.

Besides, as those rangers had proven in the sewers, they were getting desperate. And if Yes Man's calculations were right, it wouldn't be long before the NCR lost a good portion of its powerbase outside of California, and once it did the Courier would be free to move on in and establish borders outside the Mojave.

Once he did, he'd be on track to creating a new world upon the ashes of the old world. A better world, one where he would lead by example rather than behind a desk like Mr. House, like the NCR and Legion. He would be at the head of his own army.

A sigh. "Yes Man?"

"Yes, Emperor Courier?"

"Tell my chiefs of divisions I'm taking a break for a few days, I'll be leaving." He informed his secretary.

"Oh, where will you be traveling to?"

"I need to visit the Divide, I have to speak with Ulysses. I need his opinion." Courier crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair.

* * *

**End of Chapter One**

**Rule One of the Mojave. You don't lie to the Courier, the Courier always knows when you're lying! Just sayin'.**


End file.
